The Letter
by alynwa
Summary: Illya decides to write to his sister. This story refers to "Ghosts of the Past" but Leona Nicole does not exist in this tale.


"Tovarisch, I brought roast beef sand…What's that?" Napoleon asked as Illya hastily snatched papers off his table to put in his shirt pocket. He had come to Illya's apartment after work so they could finish up some overdue mission reports. He hadn't bothered to knock, just used his key and turned off the alarm system.

Blushing as if he had been caught doing something wrong, Illya answered, "It is nothing." When Napoleon stared at him with a look that said _Then why are you hiding it? _the Russian ducked his head and mumbled, "You will laugh."

Napoleon put the bag of food down and said, "Not if it means something to you; you should know that." His natural curiosity caused him to hold up his right hand in a Boy Scout salute and intone somberly, "I swear on my honor as a former Boy Scout, I will not laugh at what you are doing."

Illya snorted, "Were you ever a Boy Scout, Napoleon?"

Nodding his head and smiling broadly Napoleon answered, "Absolutely! I lasted for four months until I discovered that we would never do anything with the Girl Scouts." He winked. "I was a very precocious little boy."

Illya looked at Napoleon briefly and then made his decision. As he pulled the papers from his pocket he said, "I am writing a letter to my sister Fekla."

Napoleon sat at the table and momentarily looked confused. "Wait. _What? _Ahh, why?"

The redness returned to the blond's face with a vengeance. "I was reading my new issue of Psychology Today and one of the articles talked about how some therapists have some of their patients write letters to deceased family members they have unfinished business with in order to obtain some sense of closure. I…I thought I would give it a try. I'm almost finished; would you…would you like to hear it?"

All Napoleon knew of Fekla was that she died in the orphanage sometime after she and Illya had been placed there following the deaths of their mother and siblings. "Sure, I'd love to."

Smiling shyly, Illya adjusted his glasses and began to read. "My dear Fekla, I want to tell you some things that I have kept bottled up inside from the moment you left me. The day the Nazis came and Mama bundled us into the hiding place under the stairs and covered us with that musty old blanket, I was so scared, but you hugged me to you and kept kissing my head and telling me that we would be alright. I never told you that I believed you and that is why I was quiet. When the gunfire started, I opened my mouth to scream and you covered it with your hand and held me still. If you had not done that, we both would have surely died. You made us stay hidden long after we stopped hearing footsteps and when we did emerge from hiding, I remember we saw Mama's body and we started to cry. I remember you half – carried me out the front door and when I asked about our sister and brothers, you told me they were dead in the other room. I knew you were telling the truth, but it did not occur to me until years later that _I never saw their bodies._ _You _saw them and shielded me by taking me outside. You kept that horror to yourself and for that, I thank you."

Illya stopped and looked away. Napoleon, not wishing to disrupt his partner's train of thought, sat and waited for him to continue.

After a moment, he continued. "The orphanage was a madhouse; frightened, traumatized children and adults jammed into a too small building with too little food and barely any compassion. I remember you telling everyone that I was your little brother and that we had to stay together. I do not know how, but we remained together, sharing a bed and whatever food you received, you made sure to give me some because I needed to grow you would say and my food was never enough to fill me."

"Your death, Fekla, still haunts me. I still remember how desperate and hungry that boy looked as he snatched my food away from me and how you immediately attacked him to get it back even though he was at least six years older than you. I remember suddenly seeing a knife in his hand and watching as he plunged it into your chest. I remember your blood and my screaming as a man grabbed the knife away and then took the boy away. A woman came and despite my fighting her viciously, wrestled me into another room. I never saw you or that boy again."

"After that, I knew my death would come soon and I did not care; I was almost seven years old with no family and no reason to live. A week later, men from the government came looking for boys who showed intelligence to put into the State school. I was selected and my life went in a new direction."

"Sometimes, Fekla, I feel the connections between seemingly disparate parts of my life. If not for you, Sister, I would have died many times over. You giving your life for me made me not resist the men from the State school. From that point on, everything that happened to me put me where I am today: Working for an organization that I believe in and with the man I have come to love and respect as a brother. He has given me back the one thing of consequence the war took from me; my family."

"None of this would have happened without you, my Fekla. Thank you for saving my life and for protecting me. I love you with all my heart, your baby brother, Illya." He folded the letter and replaced it in his pocket. "What do you think?"

Napoleon spoke softly, "I think Fekla had to be the bravest little girl in the world and I am so sorry for your loss and that I will never meet her. And, I am honored that you told her about me. Thank you, _moy brat."_

"You are welcome. I am going to put this in a book of Russian poetry that I bought from Strand. She enjoyed having poetry read to her." He sat quietly for another few seconds and then said, "You know, Napoleon, I _do _feel better. Let's get started on these reports after we eat. I'm hungry."

Napoleon grinned. "Now I _know_ you feel better."


End file.
